


still forsaken shoulders fall silent, now

by mirror_party



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, FerretInnit, Gen, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Hybrid Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Hybrid Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Hybrid TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade Hears Voices (Video Blogging RPF), anyways ferretinnit supremacy, chat has so much power and they commit gremlin crimes with it.. astounding, funny thing that i only know how to write hybrid tommy lmao, i cant escape will wood he haunts my dreams and the work title box, i hate c!dream all my homies hate c!dream, shippers i see you and hate you so very much stay away from my content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28975782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirror_party/pseuds/mirror_party
Summary: Keeping Tommy under control was meant to be an easy enough task. One he's definitely qualified for. Once Dream has his fun and the boy is properly squared away, his ownership of the SMP could quite possibly go unchallenged.But there was absolutely no way to prepare for the revelation of Tommy's hybrid status.
Relationships: Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 399





	still forsaken shoulders fall silent, now

**Author's Note:**

> listen listen ao3 user sprungsick opened my goddamn mind, ferret tommy is superior in all ways and i will stand by this and also it is very late

Dream is in a sort of pickle.

Keeping Tommy under control was meant to be an easy enough task. One he's definitely qualified for. Once Dream has his fun and the boy is properly squared away, his ownership of the SMP could quite possibly go unchallenged.

But there was absolutely no way to prepare for the revelation of Tommy's hybrid status.

Tommy didn't seem to know, and if anyone else did, they never showed it. Hybrids tend to be seen in an overall negative light, which had never applied to him. Though he was simply an annoying human child, he was still a present and active voice in society. No physical signs had pointed to him being one, either.

However, with the boy's declining condition, something new is beginning to occur.

_Dream holds up his hands as a show of nonaggression as Tommy bares his teeth. A hiss bubbles from his throat as he grips the hilt of a crude iron sword, eyes wild. He remains inside the tent, as if he is defending it._

_"Now, now. Is that any way to greet me? Drop your sword."_

_The look in Tommy's eyes begins to waver._

"Tommy." _His voice hardens. "Drop. Your. Sword."_

_The blade hits the grass. Tommy stares down at it as his empty hands begin to shake._

_"I- What just..?"_

Dream had checked for any signs of zombie infection and found nothing but steadily dulling claws and teeth. It wasn't some sort of conscious effort to act out and make things difficult, either. At first, he was stumped. But over time and with the repeating (and worsening) episodes, he began to put the pieces together.

He's dealt with hybrids before. It's not like they're the rarest creatures in the SMP; people like Technoblade, Fundy, and Phil all exist. Hybrid behaviors have been documented enough to at least help brush up on what he knows.

_When a hybrid is under extreme stress, they may revert into what is often referred to as a feral state. While this behavior varies between different hybrids (i.e. between the different varieties of hostile, neutral, and passive mobs), many of the mannerisms are shared. The hybrid may lose their inhibitions, or act defensive or offensive. Depending on the species and categorization, this state can be dangerous for both those around the hybrid and the hybrid themself. Self-destructive tendencies are not uncommon._

Dream taps his chin as he skims the book in his lap. That seems pretty on par with his own knowledge. 

However, from the looks of it, there's no way to stop it from happening besides limiting stress. With what he's trying to do, he can't exactly do that.

And kicking an animal around just isn't that fun.

"Dream! My friend! How long have you been sitting there?"

Dream looks up at the approaching boy. "A while, actually. You didn't notice?"

Tommy shifts where he stands. "Well, I was busy, see, and you blend in a little with the grass."

He sighs, pockets the book, and stands, not missing how the boy tenses in response. "I guess I do. What have you been doing that made you busy enough to miss me, then?"

Though he withers slightly at the remark, Tommy gives a reluctant smile and begins walking back to where he came from. "I was, uh- I was..." Tommy glances back. "...reorganizing! Fixing up all of my chests n' the barrels in Logsted. You know, just to... uh, tidy things up a little?"

Why so apprehensive?

Dream follows, stepping onto the path and into said fort. For the most part, it looks the same. Then again, there isn't much to clean, and Tommy is awful at it anyways. 

He looks into a barrel to find it in about as much disarray as before. "Hm."

"Yeah, I..." He clears his throat as Dream continues shuffling through the barrels. "Just wanted to make things nicer for Wil- Ghostbur, for when he comes back. You haven't seen him anywhere, have you."

Dream opens the top of yet another disorganized cask.

"I- I was thinking, maybe we could-"

"...Are you hiding something from me, Tommy?"

He stills. "What?"

Dream picks out a pair of long-desiccated apple cores and turns, tossing them at the other's feet. "You said you cleaned up the barrels here. These haven't been touched in a _long_ time."

"I, well," he forces a laugh, panic evident in his eyes. "I have my own way of organizing things, see-"

"Tommy, you're fucking awful at lying." He doesn't get a response. "Well?"

Tommy only shakes his head.

He sighs, before taking out a shovel and digging out a pit. The other makes an affronted noise, but shuts up when he gives him a glare.

They go through the motions. The TNT is lit. As the entrance to the house is decorated with a brand new crater, the doorway sinks, now lacking proper support. Tommy scurries around the pit to right it. 

Dream opens his mouth to continue, but something catches his eye. He slides into the pit and, in a spot just below Tommy, brushes aside the dirt.

Cobblestone?

Above him, Tommy blanches as he hears a pickaxe collide with the wall to the secret room.

How could he miss this? How did he let this slip past him?

Hybrid status be damned. He needs to set an example.

It's so cold. His fur stands on end in some vain attempt to keep him warm, but oh, it's so _cold_. It's cold and his hands and mouth and chest all hurt. It hurts in a way more than physical. The pain pushes him further into both the icy landscape and the depths of his mind.

He just needs to get away. He needs to find warmth. He's hungry, too, but he just needs to find warmth. He's terrified, too, but he just needs to find warmth. Find _something_.

He smells woodsmoke.

Many miles away from Logstedshire, surrounded by the same swirling snow,Technoblade is unaware of Tommy's plight.

He's having a nice time in retirement. Absolutely nothing happening in his life is a pretty good change of pace, and Phil's visits are rather enjoyable. Thinking about turtles and bees is a lot more fun than shooting people with explosives and summoning creatures from Hell.

Unfortunately, unlike him, Chat has no idea how to take a break.

They've calmed down somewhat, that's for sure. Their cries for violence have slowed, since there's... really no one to kill in the Antarctic, but they remain as insufferable as ever.

He steps into the house and slams the door shut, a bag of carrots slung over his shoulder, and it appears Chat's found something else to bother him about.

_You're missing some things. The chests. Look in the chests, please. Where did your golden apples go?_

His deadpan expression twists into an exasperated one. "What?"

_ Check your chests. Check your chests, please? The fuckin' chests, man. When was the last time you did the dishes? _

Techno shakes the irritation off his face and deposits the sack on the floor before climbing down to his storage room. The zombie villagers under his home give an empty stare, trapped in their boats.

He pointedly steps around them and opens a box, minding the mud splattered against the floor. "Chat, I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I have quite a few..." He falters. "...chests?"

His storage room has always been a tad bit messy, but... holy _Prime_.

The contents have been scattered around the bottom, various blocks loose in a mess _he_ definitely wouldn't have made. He shuts it, a frown appearing on his face.

"Uh."

_Golden apples. Your food chest. Gapps. They're gone_.

"Yeah, yeah, I _get_ that." He steps aside and reaches down to his food stores. Yep, what a mess. There's splintering in the inner part of the wood around the clasp and- oh, something's even bitten through a few pieces of jerky, what the hell!

Just like they said, most of his golden apples are missing.

"What, an animal broke in?!" He slams the lid closed and gestures angrily at the wall of chests. "What am I supposed to do with that?"

The answer sends a slight spike of unsettlement up his spine. _Still in your house._

"What does that mean?"

More ambient chatter.

"Chat, what does that mean?"

_Down. Basement. In the basement, you'll see. To your right._

Now that he properly looks, the caked-on mud along the front of the chests leads to a tile along the right wall, which has been dislodged and hastily moved back into place.

Superb. Wonderful, even. He has to wrangle a wild animal out of his house.

He kicks the tile in and lowers himself into the basement. The mess hadn't ended in the storage room, this time leading to a _sizable_ pile of dirt from a very fresh- and large- tunnel in the floor that seems to lead downward under his wall.

The cow gives Techno a look. This does not help with his temper. Chat's nonsensical words grow louder. This, too, does not help with his temper.

Alright, deep breaths. He's just going to evict an unwanted tenant. Piece of cake. He unclasps his cape and tucks his hair into the hood of his coat, just so that he doesn't get too dirty when he descends.

With some effort, he slides into the tunnel, and is immediately met with a terrible snarl.

Slowly, Techno pulls a flint and steel out of his pocket and snaps it together over an unlit torch, lighting up the strange den. Wide, dialated eyes meet his as the snarl dissolves into a strangled hiss.

This is not an animal he's seen before. This isn't even an animal.

"Uh, hello, there. What are you doing under my house?"

Their eyes shoot from between the flame in his hand and his face, an angry chitter leaving their throat. When their mouth opens wide, revealing large, yet dull teeth, the situation sinks in.

Something has happened to this hybrid. Something bad enough to warrant reverting into a feral state.

He raises a hand up in some wary semblance of a greeting, but they lower themself further onto the ground, tensing as if ready to spring forward.

"Oh, no, you don't." Techno steps forward and grabs their arm, pulling them away from the wall. Another loud scream leaves them as they pry at his grip. "Listen, if you're going to be difficult about this, you can just-"

Yet another screech. One that sounds an awful lot like, " _Techno_."

Taken aback, he squints. "Care to repeat that?"

They do not, in fact, repeat. They go still, the eyes that look up at him still wild and unfocused. 

Now that the struggle is over, and Techno can get a proper look at his adversary's face, he feels some sense of familiarity. Under the long and unkempt mane of greyed hair (and a whole lot of grime), there is a freckled face he unfortunately knows.

The entire situation hits him. "Wait, _T_ -"

What hits him next is not another realization, but a slash, as the other makes a desperate lunge and claws at his cheek. He pulls him away as he continues clawing and biting at his hand.

But it doesn't _hurt_.

_Are you going to kill him? Wait, are we talking about blood, now? Blood?_

He shakes off Chat's cacophony of stupid remarks, and notices that he actually let his guard down. That was a little stupid of him.

But as he watches Tommy's pathetic attempt at an attack, he also notices that he's taking absolutely no damage. Still, he doesn't let go.

Tommy, while, _apparently_ , a hybrid, is not someone with much stamina or strength; especially not enough to rival the likes of Technoblade himself. Eventually, his movements slow, and he bows his head, exhausted. 

Techno's grip remains firm on Tommy's forearm. "Yeah, adrenaline withdrawal and whatnot. All done, now?"

No answer.

_Couldn't you have held him by his shirt? Oh, his poor arm. Poor everything, more like!_

"Listen, when you have an entire child attacking you, you don't tend to think about those things." He starts leading Tommy up the entrance to the cave, who tiredly complies. "You've made a serious mess in my house, kid, you're lucky I'm not kicking you out just yet."

A chorus of _don't kick him out_ , and, _kick him out now_ follows the remark. 

Techno pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "Yet, you guys. I said yet. Not happening _now_ , _may_ happen _later_. If he goes out there in this condition, he's going to die, and Phil would have my head if I let him."

As he helps (hauls) Tommy up to the first floor, he locks all the doors and windows shut, just in case he tries something. He then cautiously releases him.

Tommy immediately darts into a cupboard and slams the door behind him. A short, muffled clattering can be heard from inside.

_Your bowls!_

Techno stares blankly. "That can _not_ be comfortable."

After a moment of stunned silence, he suddenly realizes that his chore count has increased tremendously. He has to clean up the huge mound of displaced dirt in his basement, and fix his storage room so that it doesn't look like a tornado with a taste for beef swept through every chest.

And what the hell is he meant to do with an entire child?

With a reluctant huff, he turns on his heel, pulls out his communicator and dials a number before sliding down the ladder. "Hey, Phil?"

_Did you see his teeth_?

"Yeah, yeah. Listen..."

_His claws, too, did you notice_?

"...you might want to come back to my place."

_Poor thing_.

"Me? I'm fine. But your son's in pretty bad shape."

Techno had cleaned his home in record time, patching up the basement and cleaning the muddy mess from the storage room all in under an hour (he found his golden apples buried in a shallow hole along the wall, like some strange attempt to hoard them). 

He even dressed up in a fresh dress shirt and blue robe, just to look nice. _Expecting company really does that to someone_ , he thinks.

Over his time working in the lower floors, he heard Tommy making a small commotion above. Now that he climbs up the ladder, he sees him backed into a corner with a bowl on his head.

As he catches sight of Techno, a hiss fills the room and the bowl skips across the hardwood with a sharp _clack_ , _clack_ , _clack_.

Techno's eyes drift to the cupboard, most of the bowls spilling out from it. "So, you've been busy, too. C'mon, help me clean this up. The dishes need doing, anyway."

Tommy responds with a chitter.

He unlocks the door and peeks outside with an apathetic, "Is that so."

Another irritated chitter.

The door is shut. "Hey, enough of that."

Chat pipes up. _Do you actually understand him?_

"Heh. No." 

He moves to pick up the dirtied bowls from the floor and catches another as Tommy sends it flying towards him.

Well, if he's using weapons, he's got to be _somewhat_ awake. They have a quick staring match, and Tommy is the one to break it, looking out the window at the snow.

There's a quick clatter as most of the mess is deposited into the sink. "You'd better start cleanin' up your act soon. Phil's gonna be here any minute now."

Tommy's eyes snap to him, clearing significantly. Voice hoarse from strain, he yelps, " _Phil_?!"

Techno nearly flings the last bowl in surprise. "Wait, what the hell, you can _talk_?"

He tries to respond, but erupts into a coughing fit. His ears pin themselves back into messy hair as he hacks into his arm.

Abandoning the mess in the sink, Techno moves to kneel by the boy, who responds with a jolt. "Uh, hey, you don't need to right now. Are you awake?"

Tommy wipes his eyes and looks up, giving a short shrug. His eyes drift back to the window.

Techno looks back at the mess that has seemed to follow Tommy into the kitchen, then back at the boy's outfit, which is almost entirely dirt at this point. Understandable, considering he dug an entire den out of the ground only a few hours ago. 

He reaches forward to inspect the torn sleeve on his shoulder, but Tommy spits and swings at his hand before blinking again. "...Alright, not _entirely_ awake yet."

"Bitch."

He pointedly ignores the remark. "If Phil sees you now, he's going to strangle me for sure. You look like you're made of mud."

_Don't tell me you're going to play dress-up with a little weasel child. Your clothes are so big, that would be a_ terrible _idea_.

"I'm sure I have something spare." He murmurs, before standing and addressing Tommy. "...but you need a bath first."

Tommy makes an indignant noise, then curls further into himself. "No." He rasps.

"You've _got_ to be kidding me."

"No!"

"Hey, mind your voice."

"Mind _y'rself_."

" _You're_ the one acting like a child."

Tommy has a look of contemplation, then bolts to the side. Techno grabs at him, and he ends up fighting against his attempt to grapple.

"Really, now, can't you just-"

"-NO, NO, NO, NO-"

"-you're tracking it all over my-!"

The door handle clicks, and they both freeze. 

Phil swings the door in. "Where's-?!"

He then joins their moment of frozen silence.

Techno raises a finger. "You're letting the cold air in."

Phil is discovering many different things, all in one day. For one, he's an absolute fucking buffoon.

He raised a child, a whole child, for over a decade, and not once did he pick up on the fact that he's a hybrid. A child he fed, bathed, and had live in his own home, is a hybrid, and he just... never realized.

Of course, he had some speculation when Tommy was a young child. Hybridity _can_ be genetic, after all. But Wilbur was human. There was no reason to believe Tommy wasn't either.

_(Maybe, the treacherously reasonable voice in his head interjects, maybe if you hadn't prioritized your friendship with Techno over your children, you would have caught on much quicker._

_He disregards it, like he always does.)_

Alas, the filthy boy he coaxes into the bathroom is no human.

Was bathing Tommy always this much of a pain, when he was younger?

He finds himself silently asking this as he runs soapy water over rapidly shedding gray fur and mud. The amount of bruises and scars he uncovers begins to bother him the more he cleans.

Phil grabs a hand to scrub, but pauses. Very clearly, his impossibly thin wrists are especially bruised, and the fingertips scabbed over. As he runs a cloth over the grime on the nail, Tommy flinches sharply and grabs on with his other hand, hard.

He looks up in surprise, and Tommy's eyes seem clouded, brow furrowed. "I'm just washing the muck off so it heals properly. I can give you a break if it hurts, but we need it clean, okay?"

Tommy blinks harshly, before nodding and turning away. He still flinches as Phil runs the soapy water over it.

Something about his hand isn't right. 

Tommy is very clearly some kind of predatory mammal, but predatory mammal hybrids usually have claws. Even _he_ has talon-like structures on his own feet. The nails along the boys fingers are dulled, but they begin how most claws grow.

He gives a reassuring whistle as Tommy tenses at the contact with his hand. As the dirt is gently scrubbed away, his heart drops.

The grainy feeling of roughly filed-down keratin against his thumb makes him feel nauseous. Someone has cropped his claws back. That's where the scabbing came from.

A rush of disgust goes up his spine as he gently sets the hand back in the water. He lifts and examines the other, discovering that both hands have, in fact, been pinned and filed down.

The broken wing under his enchanted cloak twinges in sympathy. Ever since his wings were damaged in the detonation of L'manburg, an innate feeling of repulsion has weighed him down, even as they grow closer to fully recovering. Tommy must feel a similar way.

He'd better not find who did this, or he's going to do something he'll regret.

Tommy is suddenly finding that he doesn't want to be awake anymore.

At least when he wasn't, he knew what he was feeling. He felt scared, and hungry, and cold. He didn't need to think. He just felt alive.

Now, he's not entirely sure how he feels. Confused, mostly. Warm. Still pretty hungry. Still a little scared. Can feelings be muffled?

He flinches as more warmth runs over a newer scar on his back. They've been sitting in silence for a while now, and it's beginning to worry him.

"Phil?" He rasps.

Behind him, he can hear a frown in Phil's voice. "You really should be resting your throat, you sound awful."

"N-no, I-" He swallows. "...are you mad at me?"

"Why would I be?"

"I fought you on the way here. I made a big mess." He stares at his thoroughly scrubbed hands. "...'m sorry."

"Hey." Phil simply gives him a gentle pat on the head. "There's no need to apologize. You've been through a lot, I don't blame you for acting out."

He hums, unsure. Another bottle of soap snaps open, and Phil runs his hands through Tommy's hair.

"You're very muddy."

"So I've been told." He tips his head back as Phil lathers it with shampoo. The smell of apples fills the humid air. "...why are you here?"

"Techno called me when he found you." He chuckles quietly. " _'Your son dug a tunnel under my house with his bare hands! My house is built on permafrost, Phil, permafrost! How did he dig a tunnel through it?!'_ "

"Did I?"

"Apparently." Phil pours a cup of water over Tommy's soapy hair, audibly cringing as it runs brown with muck. _He's never been a big fan of dirt,_ a distant part of Tommy pipes in. "You're a little peculiar."

Tommy's eyes flutter shut as another wave of warm water washes over his scalp. "'s that so."

"Yep. Your fur's almost all gone, but your ears are still up. They don't tend to stick around unless you're like me or Techno."

"Maybe 'm just fuckin' cool, ever think've that?" He hardly notices his voice drop to a slurred mumble as Phil gives a quick scratch to his aforementioned ears. "Just so badass, th' ears were too scared to leave."

Phil huffs. "Alright, alright. Restin' your voice, remember?"

One final, hoarse chitter leaves Tommy's throat before they slip into a comfortable silence, broken occasionally by a splash of muddy water.


End file.
